


The Morning After

by SerialObsessor (ibelieveinturtles)



Series: WIAD 2008 [5]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, House Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7518370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ibelieveinturtles/pseuds/SerialObsessor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen had a party... apparently</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> Theme: Use one of the lines below as dialogue in your story.  
> Added element: A breakfast food.  
> Word Count: 500
> 
> The lines:  
> 1\. I think I saw a porno like this once.   
> 2\. That's what he/she said.   
> 3\. You couldn't find your ____ with a hunting dog and a Ouiji Board.   
> 4\. No, you may NOT touch me there for a dollar/quid/pound.   
> 5\. And you put it in your mouth?   
> 6\. I drank what?   
> 7\. It's not what it looks like.   
> 8\. It was *how* big?   
> 9\. Stick a fork in him/her/it, he/she/it is done.   
> 10\. Did I say that out loud?

Owen woke up very slowly. His head was pounding, his tongue was dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth, and as he slowly reached a useable level of consciousness he realised that his bladder was about to burst. He slowly rolled over, trying very hard not to disturb his head, and crawling to his feet he stumbled his way into the bathroom and seconds later breathed a huge sigh of relief as the pressure drained out of him.

After washing his hands and splashing water on his face he staggered out to the kitchen and sucked the life out of a bottle of juice that he found in his refrigerator before making himself a strong cup of black coffee.

Carefully holding his coffee cup he walked back into his lounge room and surveyed the damage. There were crisps and popcorn spilled all over his lounge, and the carpet. Several glasses in varying degrees of emptiness were scattered around various different surfaces, including the top of the television and the windowsill. Several DVD cases were scattered over the table and lounge, and half a dozen empty wine bottles were lined up neatly against one of the walls.

Carefully clearing a small space on the couch Owen carefully and delicately lowered himself onto the couch and sipped at his coffee whilst he surveyed the mess that used to be his living area. What on earth had happened here last night?

Leaving his now empty coffee cup on the table he went back to the bathroom where he splashed some more water on his face before rummaging around in the cabinet for some aspirin.

Having successfully swallowed the aspirin Owen staggered towards his bedroom. What he needed now was sleep, and lots of it. He stumbled through the doorway and then stopped as if running into a wall. There was someone in his bed. No, make that two someones. One of them was lying diagonally across the bed, a foot poking out from underneath the covers at one end of the bed, and a shock of dark hair at the other end of the bed. The other person was lying straight up and down; an arm flopped out over the side of the bed, and both feet sticking out from where the covers had come loose at the end of the bed.

As Owen stood in the doorway and stared at his occupied bed, the person on the left stirred and rolled over. Owen’s eyes widened in surprise as he saw whom it was. Suspicion rose in his mind as he slowly walked over to the bed, cautiously reached out, and flipped the covers down off the other person.

Eyes opened, blinked several times, and then focused on Owen’s face. They stared at each other for a moment, and then a slight movement attracted their attention.

“It’s not what it looks like!” a low voice groaned.

“Yeah right.” Owen replied, and left the room. He needed another drink.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the writerinadrawer practice round 2008.
> 
> This the last one. No more of these.


End file.
